Twice
by La. Bel. LM
Summary: Twice it happened, twice she forgot, and twice he imprinted every precious detail into his mind. COMPLETE.


Twice it happened, twice she forgot, and twice he imprinted every precious detail into his memory.

First time: Fifth year, Slughorn's Christmas party. She invited him to go with her, of course. But not as readily nor as enthusiastically as he had hoped (and in all honesty, expected). She had taken a long time to decide; there had been a buzz through the halls prior to her invitation. Who would it be? Potter? Would she possibly ask Potter to the Christmas party?

No, he'd thought savagely, she wouldn't, she would never. (_He _was her best friend, not Potter). But there had been a question, a hesitation about her. And he had not liked that...

Severus arrived at the party angry yet wary, insecure, desperate to keep her.

Lily arrived flustered, disappointed, and unwilling to discuss the rumors.

She was stunning as ever, effortlessly beautiful, much looked at and admired, envied even. And he was... Well, he hovered there at her side, dimwittedly persistent - like an overlarge balloon tied to her wrist - until she grew so irritated with him that he feared she might simply reach over and pop him with her fingernail. He had blurted out one too many snide remarks, one too many "stakes of claim" over her attentions for the evening, and she was fed up, it seemed.

So he untied himself and drifted away, letting her alone, hating himself for pressing her, and in doing so revealing a glimpse of those deep and unshakable feelings that burrowed such deep, winding tunnels inside him, always seeming to pop through the surface at the most inopportune moments. Defeat smoldered like hot coals in his stomach. He should have kept his mouth shut! And she... she should not have antagonized him. She should have sensed his discomfort and paid him more attention. Now he was alone, retreating into his corner to sit and watch. Watch her laugh, watch her hug and touch and make conversation with her other friends - her older friends, who liked her, who pressed special punch into her hands and kept her drinking all night long.

The evening grew late. Her friends left, forgetting her, forgetting a lot of things, seeking out dark corridors and abandoned hallways.

Giggling and incoherent, she was hesitantly approached by Slughorn: "Anyone to walk you back, dear girl? Any friends of yours around? Malfoy maybe? No? Alright then - whom did you bring with you?"

She looked for him. He thought briefly of slipping out the door and leaving her to fend for herself. Maybe _Potter _would come by and rescue her, he thought snidely.

But then he thought: Maybe Potter would come by and rescue her.

He made an immediate about-face and walked directly back to her. She saw him and pointed, laughing. Slughorn pushed her to him. The two of them bumped awkwardly. But there was no time to dwell on where his hand had brushed her, and where her hip had touched him, because Slughorn was already ushering them forcefully out the door: "Getting late, children, getting late. Wouldn't want you in trouble on my account."

They were alone in the hallway. It was dark. She stumbled. He caught her.

"You're a good friend, Sev. You _really _are... most uuuuh... most f'the time. I mean, you can be an incredible wanker sometimes... but..."

He had not released her. She was not trying to pull away.

"I know," was all he managed to say, and then his arms enclosed her, very tightly. He was not entirely sure why, it just seemed the right thing to do.

She was his friend, he thought, and no one else's. Not for tonight, at least. For tonight, at the end of this night, he was the one who was here, who had remained, who would rescue her, take her back to her dorm, lead her to bed, care for her. Who else was around? Not Potter. Never Potter. For as long as he lived, _never_Potter.

"Leonard asked me," she giggled into his shoulder.

The moment was broken and the rest of the world returned. His let his arms fall back to his sides again. He should not have held on so long - she might have noticed.

But she had not noticed. She remained where she was, near him, swaying slightly and smiling that smile he so hungered to claim.

"Leonard asked me the strangest thing tonight."

He was irritated again. What the bloody hell did he care about Leonard Rosier and whatever strange things might have slimed their way out of that stupid mouth? She shouldn't waste her time with oily bastards like that. She should have been with him all night - him, her friend, Severus. He wanted to point out that _he _wouldn't have said "strange things".

But she giggled again. "Leonard asked me how long - how long have me and that Snape boy - old whatshisface Snape, he called you - how long have we two been _snogging_!"

A lot changed in that moment. Whether or not she noticed, he did not know, but he felt it happen like an electric current through the air. A jolt of something surged straight into his ears with an almighty _zap_, and then coursed like an express train all the way through his entire body. With nowhere to go, that electric jolt just seemed to bang around inside him, jumping into his bloodstream and zipping from his head to his toes, to his knees, to his elbows, to his ankles, to his arms, to his fingertips, to his chest, to his heart; on and on this surge of breathless energy seemed to barrel through him as he stood there staring at her, dumbfounded, caught up in the moment and wondering if she was aware of it all.

He cleared his throat, his feet shifting awkwardly.

"D-did he?" he asked when she did not immediately go on.

"Yup!" She swayed again. Her hands were on his chest now, on his shoulders, to steady herself. Such small, delicate hands. He'd held them before - so many times when they were young, now less and less as they grew older. But he never stopped wanting to feel her fingers intertwined with his own.

All rational thought left him. There was no more room for thought in his brain, no more reason, just instinct.

He didn't say anything - couldn't. And anyway, he didn't need to. She was already very close.

"Silly thing to ask," she said quietly, looking at her hands traveling down his chest, as though just noticing they were there. "Don't you think?"

Severus reached out, his entire palm pressed against her cheek, his fingers sliding into her hair. He drew her face up. She looked at him.

Green eyes. _Beautiful _green eyes.

"No," he said. And that was all he said.

Then she lurched forward, their lips met, and she was his. At long last, that sneaky, elusive, radiant smile was his. Not for very long - at some time or another it would end - but for that moment, just for that moment, Lily Evans belonged to him and no one else. Very and truly.

That was the first time, and it was the best. Well, it was his favorite anyway. Even if she didn't remember it the next morning, he did, and that was what mattered. He, Severus Snape, had kissed Lily Evans, and she even seemed to enjoy it.

The second time was less of a triumph, and they were both drunk:

It was sixth year. Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. Severus would never forget how hotly his gut had smoldered as he watched that damnable Potter riding high and crowing with glee atop the shoulders of his friends, with Lily, smile flashing, red hair flying, following the crowd behind him and hooting with laughter.

She drank deeply at the Gryffindor victory party, toasting to the glory of their House's obvious greatness.

He drank deeply in his room, toasting to the dismal and pathetic life of misery he had so grudgingly come to lead.

There had been a fight between them not long ago, a terrible one. Of course, fights were common - always had been - yet this was a real kicker. Severus had said… to be honest, he had said a lot of things, and most of them he didn't really mean. But tonight, he was drunk enough to convince himself that apologizing was not entirely beyond his capabilities.

So he went on a search to find her.

Lily unexpectedly found herself remembering their fight just at the precise moment when James Potter's hand closed over her elbow, intending to steer her towards a particularly dimly lit corner of the Gryffindor common room. She remembered the fight, and was drunk enough to convince herself that demanding an apology from Severus was not entirely beyond her capabilities.

So she pulled herself from Potter's grasp and went on a search to find him.

Drunk and stumbling though they were, it did not take long before they crossed paths. Fourth floor, in a pool of moonlight streaming through an enormous window, they met.

"You're drunk," she said, aghast. She had never seen him drunk before. He stoutly refused to compromise his rational senses in her presence. (Though, it was debatable whether or not he ever had rational senses in her presence to begin with).

"So are you," he growled, thinking her red hair looked especially pretty in the late night hour—still windswept and all over the place, begging for him to run his hands through it. He resisted the impulse. As always. Just barely.

"You look a little droopy, Sev. A little droopy, a little… a little mmmmm… a little morose. Been sulking all evening, have you? Been wandering around in the drippy dark just waiting for someone to—"

"Quiet," he hissed, determined to head her off. She knew his buttons better than anyone (even while entirely sloshed) and at times seemed to take more pleasure than Potter in pushing them as fast and repeatedly as time and space would allow. Why did she like to do that?

"_Quiet_," she repeated, mockingly.

"Do you want to get caught?" he snapped back.

"Only if doing so means you get detention. You need a detention, Sev, a real detention. I wann' see you, you know, on your hands and knees, polishing banisters, scrubbing toilets, shining Dumbledore's shoes… Well, pref—preferably not in that order I s'pose." She snorted with laughter.

He was two blinks away from coming unspooled entirely.

If she made one move towards him, made even the slightest motion that hinted at her desire to be nearer to him, he would, in an instant, absolutely envelope her. He remembered what it was like to kiss her—the soft wetness of her mouth, the feel of her body against him, so warm and solid, and breathing, and alive.

In the space of a moment, without even having decided to do so, Severus grabbed her. He grabbed her roughly by the waist and pushed her back into the wall, pressing himself against her so that he could touch her, every inch of her, all over.

She gave a short, guttural gasp—the kind of gasp he always imagined she would make, exactly, precisely the sound he always heard her make when he grabbed her in his dreams, and ravished her because she asked him to, pleaded him to. Such pitiful, obsessive dreams, but so glorious and indulgent in the moment.

And now, here she was, he wasn't dreaming, she was real—her breasts heaving against his chest, her neck so hot and smooth as he kissed her just there, right above her collarbone. His hand slipped under her shirt—her mouth was on his ear—he ran his tongue upwards, along her neck, along the curve of her jaw—and she _let him_. She let him, because she was drunk and he was forceful.

"S-Severusss," she moaned, and he felt it resonate through every muscle in his body, settling somewhere in his stomach, then beneath it, intensifying and throbbing so that his pants became tight and the pressure grew and grew between them as he continued to press against her, his hand beneath her shirt slipping higher and higher, his breath growing shorter and shorter…

And then, suddenly, it all went wrong.

She pushed him, hard, so that he stumbled backwards. His mouth left the warm cradle of her neck, his hand left that sweet landscape beneath her shirt he was only just beginning to explore.

With a sharp crack, she slapped him across the face.

Severus blinked rapidly, seeing stars, tasting the copper tang of blood in his mouth.

He looked at Lily, entirely abashed, and she gazed back, shaking with fury. There were tears in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to explain - _please, Merlin, explain!_- what the bloody hell was going through her mind…

But, the explanation never came, because before she could speak, they were interrupted.

"WHO'S THERE? SHOW YOURSELF!"

The Caretaker found them. A bright beam of wandlight shone harshly upon their scene of disarray, illuminating their embarrassments and frustrations: Her anger and shock. His drunken, foolish, unabashed, indiscriminate, _helpless _desire. All of it laid bare—for the second, and the very last, time.

Lily got her wish. They were caught, and Severus got detention.

As they walked together in hushed silence, stumbling and ashamed behind the labored steps of the Caretaker, leading them on what felt to be their death march, Severus finally worked up the courage. He whispered to her, "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, eyes glazed and unfocused, no longer teary, but her mouth resolutely twisted into a determined scowl. "Never," she said. "You _never _should have done that."

"No," he replied, "I'm sorry about earlier, about our argument. I'm sorry for what I said to you."

She stared at him for a long time, glancing away only briefly when they reached a staircase and she had to look at her feet as they began to ascend.

"And what about tonight?" she finally asked, so softly that he was sure the only reason he heard her was because he already knew what her words were going to be before she spoke them.

They marched side by side in the dark, matching each other step for weary step.

Severus had walked these stairs a thousand times before, under every imaginable circumstance—but tonight was the only time that he felt their familiarity escape him. It was as though every notion of reality melted away; the moonlight became sunlight, the stone became wood, the silence became full, ferocious and loud. Severus felt briefly, perhaps wrongly, but nevertheless strongly, that he wore upon his shoulders the cloak of an irreversible crime, and that the steps he ascended were not those of a castle, but those of a waiting gallows, and that just as some deeds can never be undone, so too were his words that could never be unsaid.

"No," he told her. It didn't matter that tomorrow she wouldn't remember exactly, that next week she would forget entirely. This was his moment, and he was going to take it.

"No, I'm not sorry about this," Severus told Lily. "I will never be sorry for this."

FIN.


End file.
